


Apterygota

by montereygay



Category: The Southern Reach Trilogy - Jeff Vandermeer
Genre: Emetophilia, Entirely consensual, Other, Overwhelmed, Teratophilia, Unsanitary, Vomiting, gagging
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-14
Updated: 2018-03-14
Packaged: 2019-03-31 04:11:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,192
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13967070
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/montereygay/pseuds/montereygay
Summary: The Crawler thrusts itself into her mind like a crashing wave, and the brightness rushes up to meet it.





	Apterygota

Crushed. 

Blinded.

Pinned like an insect on display.

The Crawler thrusts itself into her mind like a crashing wave, and the brightness rushes up to meet it. She feels ripped open, flayed, a slaughtered animal as this strange, inconceivable creature examines her most vulnerable aspects. She feels, as one might in the narrow space between wakefulness and sleep, an almost semi-corporeal mass of hands, or something hand _like,_ taking in the shape of her. 

It's too much to be perceived, sorted out into singular sensations amassing into one tide of overwhelming, searing feeling. It's ecstatic, intense to the point of the knife edge of pain in every inch of her. Where her skin is touched, the sensation shoots outward in radial spikes, into her skin, down the lines of her limbs, setting alight nerves across the expanse of her body. She wants to move away. She wants to press into it. It's too much, and she cannot do anything.

She feels a fleeting touch on the mound of her groin, and as she feels the reflexive desire to grind up into the sensation, she becomes aware explicitly of her arousal. Something about this sensation draws it up and out of her, surging like the brightness into her skin, filling her with warmth to match the existential agony of the Crawler’s examination, perhaps even feeding off of it. Every touch burns, radiates, fills her with light.

The Biologist is shaking where she is pinned up against the wall of the Tower, held up both by the pressure exerted upon her and by some paralysis that has seized upon her, just enough to keep her upright, but she can feel the strain. Any motion resists her as though she were submerged in thick mud. Tears pinprick the corners of her eyes, but she does not cry, even as the overwhelming crush of sensation pushes her beyond a point where she knows she would be incoherent otherwise.

The Crawler touches her more forcefully now in its examination. The ghost of a touch on her sternum becomes a firm grip on her waist, on her breasts through the bulky fabric of the uniform. She hears herself choke in mixed anguish and relief when the touch returns to her groin, this time pressing up into the soft give of her pussy with some force. She wants it desperately, welcomes it, _needs_ it so badly to relieve the desperation this encounter is inspiring in her. It cannot penetrate her or even touch her directly with the barrier of her uniform in place, but she is helpless to do anything to aid its exploration of her.

When it finds her mouth again, it pushes her lips and jaw open to the point of strain, but she finds that she can breathe around the intrusion as if it were nothing but air. The force presses down on her tongue, then under it, finding the extent of the give of the smooth tissue there. It presses at the insides of her cheeks, the sensitive bumps of her soft palate, then at the back of her throat. The sensation makes her want to gag reflexively, but the seizing of her muscles through her body prevents it, at least for now.

As the probing of the Crawler continues down her throat, the pressure on her cunt moves up to the hem of her uniform trousers and pulls harshly at the front until the button rips through with a _pop._ It pulls them down with her underclothes to just below the knee, leaving her exposed and bereft for just a moment before the touch returns. With no barrier, the strange, there-not-there sensation of its inspection is so intense it’s almost painful as it presses up and into the hot cavity of her pussy, and this time she does manage to cry out, choked, rough, guttural, even as the force in her throat pushes down further.

This momentary lapse in the paralysis in her throat allows the muscle there to spasm, and she gags violently. She feels her stomach heave before she freezes again, but the reflex is still seizing in her throat and back of her mouth. It is a new agony, pushing her to the point of tears as the Crawler continues its exploration of her.

Her skin almost burns where it grasps her under her arms and thighs, crackling with sensation. It comes over her in waves, hot, throbbing, aching heaviness that she can feel in the tips of her fingers, in the soft junctures of neck and jaw, in her groin. God, she can’t believe this is happening, could never have predicted how overwhelming the sensation is or how much she wants it. The Crawler penetrates her in slow, writhing motions of touch, pressing up and in and back, against her cervix and into the small vaginal pocket behind it when it finds that to be unyielding. Her entrance is stretched taut around it, the girth of the illusory touch widening by the second as the Crawler attempts to shove as much of itself (its limb? manifested touch?) inside her as possible.

It gives an experimental thrust, hard and slow inside her that hits a spot that shoots pleasure up into her abdomen and out to her throbbing, erect clitoris, straining upward and twitching against cool, damp air. Seemingly intrigued by this reaction, it repeats the motion, rougher, faster, forcing a choked sound from her throat. 

The intrusion ramming into her must be close to three inches in diameter; it feels massive, like she should be able to look down and see the protrusion in her abdomen bulging her outward. A rivulet of slick runs down the interior of one thigh like a caressing finger, the sloppy wetness of her mirroring the lines of drool running from the corners of her mouth still wedged open around the intrusion in her esophagus. She thinks her nose might be running. The overwhelmed tears that had been forming at the corners of her eyes have long since spilled over. She is wrecked.

Then suddenly, the Crawler, satisfied with its inspection, drops her to the ground unceremoniously where she lands on her side, the paralysis gone from her along with all probing sensation in and around her, and everything that she has been on the brink of seems to happen at once. The Biologist convulses violently as she vomits water and bile onto the floor of the Tower, thin, acrid slime dripping down her face until she is dry heaving as her body alights with orgasm. She gasps through it, shaking as the ecstasy of release couples with the full-body relief of having the Crawler remove itself from her, along with the pain of that examination. Her pussy convulses over and over around nothing, the penetration gone with the rest of it, and she fumbles to press two fingers up and into herself, whimpering in relief when even that small intrusion lessens her bereavement.

She twitches and whines through the last of it, filthy with bile, snot, and slick alongside the thin film of decayed plant matter on the Tower floor, before blacking out, exhausted.

**Author's Note:**

> "Others mentioned feelings of euphoria and extremes of sexual desire, for which there was no explanation and which, ultimately, [Jeff VanderMeer] found unimportant."
> 
> I'm gross. Come find me on tumblr.
> 
> Edit: Y'all nasties out here openly bookmarking and publishing r*pe and inc*st fic with Nazis and what have you can fuck off, I'm just unsanitary, not morally reprehensible, and I don't care if this end note pisses you off. I'm sick of y'all.


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